Sketchedout Heart
by Mirae-no-sekai
Summary: A sketch and faded emotions. A witch's musings and a spot of manipulation. ZxN, please enjoy. Re-done due to excessive fail... please ignore the existence of chapter one!
1. Old - Do not read

Their relationship was pure pretense on both sides. Neither of them could truly feel, truly appreciate the "emotions" that were part of it. He'd say to her that she was closer to the template. She'd say she was as much of illusions and shadows as he was.

But by then, he would have already been cradled by a book's world. And she would have already reverted to the meek façade of a phantom girl in a castle full of broken spirits.

* * *

><p>It happened on one of the days that Naminé would grow weary of the sketches in her pad. Would be taken under a wave of ersatz guilt and simply cease to draw memories into life. Unfortunately, the Savage Nymph was witness to this, and unwilling to let it slip. Or maybe she was as bored as the too-pale girl in the too-pale castle and this provided just the thing to excuse her venting of anger.<p>

"My, _my_! Has the little witch run dry of inspiration? Because if she has, I'll _gladly_ remind her of the fact that a heart is needed to be inspired in the first place." Silence, as always. Naminé rarely speaks – when she does, she does so in faded whispers and an innocent voice. The black-coated woman saunters over to her, taunts dripping from her words like honey and a smile to put predators to shame.

"Or is it that she has grown close to our sky-brought hero? How amusing… the evil witch growing a heart from guilt only! If only it was real… but no, a fake. Like all in this place." A snap of lightning, a wince. The grin grows wider. "Oh what, what will dearest Sora do, I wonder?"

"It is not about Sora." Shy, and a liar to boot she may be… but no, Sora is not hers, never hers. She is only a ghost, while he is light and blood. Naminé can only lay claims to a certain affection to another dark soul in the bleached castle. To another being broken as she is, but with more poise and the embrace of shadows around him.

"So, the witch is _also_ an unfaithful temptress! Weren't you best friends? You'll just break his heart… don't you like the feel of it? The lick of power?" She knows the barb hurts, the fake memories implanted in the hero's mind of the witch's making.

The elder female giggles – she "wishes" she had a man that was so devoted to her wiles. But Naminé is quiet once more. The insults and jabs wrap around her, cling to her and spark along like stray lightning.

A voice dissipates it.

"Twelve – while your talent for slander is of an extraordinary nature, it is not what we are here for. Surely, a few bouts of combat with more active prey will provide some more entertainment."

"Not to mention it lets the witchling continue to rebel against us, right Zexy?"

"Do not refer to me as such. I do not insist on rank, but my name or number are preferred."

"And what is it to me? I, in a show of care for our Organization's goal, am trying to steer Naminé back to her task of drawing Sora closer and leaving him as our puppet. It is more important than dealing with some heartless that you have probably conjured from that book of yours."

Naminé has watched the owner of that voice since his entrance. Her eyes, normally like an empty mirror, now show flickers of something close to a teenager's love. She does not know what brought him here, so far from his domain, but is thankful for it. He continues to try and lure the Nymph away, with promises of blood and darkness that entice the female. She yields after a while, striding out of the room with knives gleaming in her hands and the crackling of bloodlust-filled lightning about her.

The male approaches her, expression neutral. She cowers in her seat, a part of her begging to stand and…

"Naminé – as I understand, you have been drawing less. Is anything concerning you? We can't have this inconvenience, if we plan on getting our hearts back." Only business, away from what she hoped he would say, but she doesn't care, can't care. He takes a glance behind him, assuring himself that there are no other specters gliding too near to Naminé's cage. His gloved hands reach out, one taking the pad in which she draws. He flicks it open.

"Purpose aside, they are quite eye-catching. A far cry from the ones I saw you working on the previous times that I've been here."

It is nearly imperceptible, but there is a smile on his face. And a finger is tracing the sketched lines, eyes roving over the pages. Naminé blushes – she doesn't know how she can – and reaches out towards a blank page that she keeps nearby for times like these, where she wants to draw something but cannot use the note book.

The figure on the paper is done quickly, yet it looks so very similar to the person she wanted to draw. She doesn't notice that the room has gone silent; the soft voice has ceased praising her works and there is no sound of pages turning. She definitely does not notice that the man that is out of her drawing is standing now slightly behind her, the one eye she could see casually looking over her shoulder and into her drawing – his likeness.

"Ah… is that supposed to mean something?" He drawls with a smirk on his face. He is reaching for the page, trailing his slim fingers across it, gently ghosting a touch upon her bare hands.

For him, it had all begun as a ploy. He wanted his heart back and he knew that somehow the memory sorceress was necessary. But now, in her room… the scheme was fraying at the edges. He wasn't supposed to grow attached to her _no, not attached, can't feel right_. Much less to have something that was too close to love _no, melancholy, twisted, heartless caring_.

But he had, and now he had seen her create a drawing of him, a being who by rights should not exist. She had made him real, if only in a page as a drawing.

"Zexion…"

"Can I have it?" He asks – he wants something of her. Something he can manipulate her with, something he can remind himself of her face with_. I can't, too wrong, no heart… love…_ . His fingers have found their way to her hands, caressing them – somehow, he thinks that he'll sway her if he does this.

"I, yes… at a price." She stutters and mumbles her way through that phrase, but manages to keep her too-blue eyes on his. She untangles one of her hands to run it through the fringe that obscured half of his face, stroke the pale thin neck. Pulls herself closer, because she is half-sure that one of them will break into darkness and mirrors in this moment.

She feels his arms encircle her waist, his lips ghosting her own. _Closer, closer…_ a non-pulse racing, her free hand reaching to his chest. Where his heart should be, there is naught but an echo, and a gloved hand over hers.

He feels her unsure touch, her breath against his mouth. And he knows that, even without his heart _his love, his soul_ he can pretend to care. Because the pale hand on his chest and the drawing and the girl are enough pieces to pretend it is **there** amidst the darkness that is him.

"What price?" He breathes this out, although he knows the answer. Her half-hooded eyes told him, the pencil told him. He touches his lips to hers. The faint scent she has of faded light and ink tastes sweet for him, like a far off memory from a life he led once upon a time.

For her, Zexion tastes of freedom and darkness and old books. She can pretend that their relation is not as false as they both know it is. She holds him closer, prays neither of them will break. The tightening embrace from him tells her that the "feeling" is mutual.

They stay like that for a while, lips pressed together and bodies close. He pulls apart, a hint of a smile on his face.

"I expected nothing less from such a work of art, Naminé…"

She blushes again, feels him trail a finger along the reddened skin.

"Now, to prevent Larxene from harming you, would you please return to creating your drawings? You can show them to me next time around. If I like them…"

The finger dropped to the corner of her lips, and languorously traced them. It was a promise of sorts. A challenge. The smirk on his face and the faded blush on his cheeks add to it, make sure she does as he wants.

She picks up the discarded pencil. He watches her for a while, then leaves with the sketch she made. What they have between them is make-believe and puppet strings. Empty mirrors that occasionally reflect the ghost of tainted emotions and drawings. But it is all right for them – it could never be anything else.


	2. Fix!

He doesn't draw the duty of Witch-keeper often, but draw it Zexion does. And often enough, if he's one to say so- there are some experiments left half-done still, and Vexen hasn't stopped haranguing him about taking his duties seriously.

He's taking the power struggles too seriously, is what Zexion thinks, and he maybe divulges with the young girl curled up next to him, grimacing a bit because he can't leave the manipulation business at the door.

"But you don't do so either, Naminé. And I don't think we would've ever gotten anywhere without it."

The scratch of crayon stops, hanging on his words. She nods, the motion soft against his chest.

* * *

><p>She's been in her ivory tower for long enough. It isn't a proper tower- more like the most ample room in the top floor, where the most eyes can be set on her- but Naminé has heard from enough people that the prized girl is kept locked at the highest tower of the castle. So a tower it is.<p>

She even has her own dragon(ess). The woman casting fire into the room, little words sunk like barbs into the paper and probably her skin, if words can actually pin themselves to anything. They probably can, but Naminé hasn't checked in person.

"They can. They do, Naminé, only you see them as those drawings. Aren't they pretty, stabbing through the hero's heart and-"

Naminé shuts out the rest of the speech. Or rather, Larxene goes on with a bladed smile, nearly-wrapping a slender finger around one of her knives- Naminé feels the slight current so very near. She can't flinch- she'll come into contact, and that is what hurts; besides, she can't really fear.

Larxene knows how to drive that point in almost as well as she knows how to handle a knife. Or maybe better, but that is something that Naminé doesn't even think of trying out- not on her, not on anyone and lack of empathy be-

"Twelve. While your talent for slander is of extraordinary nature, I do believe that wasn't why we recruited you."

"Hmph. Wasn't why you were recruited either Zexy… what, sore over getting dragged out of the lab again? And here I thought-"

"You were doing me a favor." He drawls it out, not particularly interested in whatever excuse the elder female has for her haranguing. A bit later, when he's convinced her to leave; he says to her that it was for the atmosphere.

Naminé knows it's for his benefit- he is about as fond of the Savage Nymph as Naminé herself is, and she think that she's reached hitherto unknown levels of negative emotion.

"Considering our condition as Nobodies, that is an amusingly low boundary."

A smirk from him- he considers his own loophole for a while, before deeming it irrelevant. Waits for a while; there's the tell-tale flick of a page, and another and another much slower.

"You haven't resumed your task. I assumed it had something to do with Larxene being present- darkness knows she can hinder even the simplest study." Matter-of-fact, even if he's visibly annoyed- or at least, Zexion's rolled his eyes. From where she is, Naminé can actually see both of them, slightly off to his left and across from him.

She is a bit mystified by the fact that he manages to keep his voice even- Naminé can barely manage it, the permanent quivers of near-emotions. Just barely, and it has been a bit of an issue with the others, if they've cared enough to point it out. Unless it's mocking, they don't.

Zexion does so because they are keeping some kind of score- Naminé's wide power over memories versus his own illusions, and whoever manages to act more normal when this debacle is over…

Well, they can't say 'wins'. Not now at the very least, and she knows he's likely to change the results just a minuscule bit so that he beats her. She'd do the same, she supposes, more so if it's against him. Probably because, in some weird way, she's accustomed to his presence. Naminé can certainly say she doesn't dislike it, and she'd even fancy saying it's more pleasurable to work with him than say, alone. Or with one of the black-cloaked ones who frequent this place. He's prone to speaking with less of a biting sarcasm- of course he does it, it's part of being a Nobody according to his research- but Zexion does take pride in being chivalrous, some exceptions made.

"Then it isn't chivalry-"

"I find no use in more than base courtesy towards Twelve."

She bites back a laugh, breath quivering with muted amusement.

"Now, a young girl deep in her work, why…"

He lets the sentence drift off slightly, returning to his thick book. Her crayon has begun to move again, slipping out of conscious thought, but it isn't Sora she's drawing. For the moment, Naminé is uninspired, much less able to manipulate- here, there'd be a comment about her being 'special', or an interesting anomaly that has a more fluid emotional reaction. For the record- Naminé doesn't keep one formally, but the myriad sketches must count for something- it hurts. It hurts to have more than cursory guilt, or that she can feel loneliness press up on all sides. The guilt most of all. Negative emotions must be especially powerful, if she can echo them to this degree- she'd say the same about the positive ones, but all the iterations she's seen are born from manipulation. Skewed data, she hears Zexion say in a whisper about something that doesn't concern her in the least- Naminé's heard about the experiments, but she isn't particularly interested in science. Or of crossing at the very least the path of two armed heroes and whatever has been thrown in their way. They wouldn't lay a finger on her- Sora wouldn't, not as deep as he is in the illusion; and the other has darker things to concern himself with and atone for. And she hasn't mastered the portal magics either, much as she's tried or Zexion has practiced with her. Part of being an anomaly, according to him, and anyways she is lacking a cloak. I'll borrow yours, Naminé had said back then, to a smirk and something that sounded like a laugh. It hung too big on her, as she'd supposed, sleeves requiring to be rolled up and the hem tripping her up. It had also been unexpectedly cold, the leather not keeping any body heat. Or silk, Naminé isn't sure what they're made of, except that it isn't the same material as her dress, which certainly isn't silky or leathery.

She'd made a grab for his hand. Missed dreadfully, partly because of Zexion having a better evasion than she'd thought; partly because he'd been in the process of relieving her of the heavy cloak. But the end result was similar, and she'd decided that Zexion was indeed glacial to the touch. He'd shrugged her hand off in the same motion, and Naminé hadn't done much in the way of physical contact since.

She was drawing now. And it isn't Sora, as she sees, because he doesn't wear a black cloak and his hair doesn't curtain off half his face, interesting as the sight would be. Familiar too, since she's seen that style frequently in shades of shadow-blue. The figure in the page is also astoundingly monochrome, even if Naminé recalls changing the color of the crayon a couple of times. She might've not done so, caught up in thought as she was, but anyways. Black and grey-blue, a smidge of blue for an eye and some silver details done hurriedly because it's a sketch and an unfinished one at that.

Naminé decides that the picture is worth finishing, if she's spent the time making it recognizable as someone even if she isn't going to imbue it with any magic. And she's switching the color again- because as realistic as it is supposed to be, she despises the near-absolute lack of color after painting rainbow over rainbow of it. And because Zexion could do with some more color, disregarding the slight distaste he has for it and the fact that she's only coloring in a sketch.

"Interesting production, though I doubt I feature in any of their memories… and if I do, I'd appreciate it if you'd remove me from them."

Naminé snaps up, and she's concerned that she's been caught procrastinating or… procrastinating; she'll leave it like that. One of his hands is gliding over to hers, hovering over the sketch. And she shouldn't, but she's still going to half-reach up for his fingers. That's what normal girls do, when something halfway private is discovered, and because if she's holding on to his hand he can't draw the picture away from her. The fingers are slender woven between her own, black-and-pale stripes close to parallel. She tightens her grip, just feather-light, and smiles. She's been told- in one of the memories, at the very least, that she has a disarming smile. Charming for the very struck by young-girl tricks.

It doesn't exactly work as expected, Zexion being nigh immune to such a little glamor, but it does do something. He smirks- he's above proper smiling- tugs on her hand until it's a lot closer to him than the drawing. And Naminé is pulled along, not yet out of her seat but close to it, eyes fixed on the joined hands.

"You're still cold."

Zexion laughs at this. Short, and rolling along to the fingers in her grip. He leans back, probably to disengage- he's already seen her drawing, has already phrased a request that he can demand later.

Now, usually Naminé wouldn't think much of it. She's accustomed to his coldness, rarely experienced as it is. She's accustomed to him being aloof even when shunted into this duty of keeping her under loose guard, and he's strict about it- certainly cordial, but Naminé knows he doesn't leave tasks done less than perfectly (she's heard enough rants about it too). And usually, when Zexion does the small things he does to separate himself, Naminé doesn't do much reacting.

This time, it is unexpectedly different. Maybe because, of all things, she is peeved by the fact that time goes on and while she feels somewhat warmer despite the light dress, he is as cold as ever. Or because if she can waste away some time on sketching him, Naminé can whittle away at minutes with him, since he's here and anyways they are in some sort of competition for who gets to act more normal.

So she doesn't let go, and even tugs a little at his hand. For a moment, Zexion looks confused- and now that is a sight, eyes slightly narrowed and neutrality nearly chased away by a frown. He recovers, leaning slightly forwards. Head cocked to the side, so Naminé can't see his other eye- and that does bother her a little, because after enough time they've agreed that she can't read his emotions (faked as they are) and he won't try to overly manipulate her (because everyone tries that, and he is just subtle about it, but that's the point of the agreement).

"I can't negotiate for freedom for such a trifle Naminé…"

She's about to say that it isn't negotiation, and that she's breaching logic for that and he should find that interesting. Maybe she does say it, since there's confusion creeping up on his face again before something else is there too. Something closer to a proper smile, a gentle pull on her hand until she's almost standing up, an eerily soft quality to him. Naminé thinks it slightly unnerving, that he's fallen silent and more contemplative of even the small motions. Thoughts should whirr a bit, audibly and less metaphorically. Hers would be going fast, a slow hum to mask the fact that she has no idea how to go on with this. She doesn't have any memories at her disposal of any situation like this- two people, a bit closer than normal, even if that normal would rank as an all-time low for anything else.

Zexion does, apparently, because he maneuvers her a bit. Now she's nearly leaning on him, a pair of hands still held somewhat tight, and now both his eyes are back on focus. A tad too close, but it's comforting, to see both of them. A quirk of a smile flicker-frown and back, and now maybe thoughts really do whirr.

"How did that boy do this, the one with red hair…?"

Naminé wasn't meant to hear that, she thinks, but she doesn't quite stifle the giggle. And Zexion doesn't quite frown either, expression morphing into a smirk and the beginnings of him returning her to her previous position. And maybe defying Nobody-logic is a trend for the day, since Naminé doesn't want to return to her own perch. And this close, maybe he feels slightly less cold, maybe he is slightly less cold and the bizarreness of this situation makes more sense. She stays there, blonde hair swaying a little as he ends up a breath closer- it's nicer for her, close without dangerous intent, and maybe it does make more sense this way.

It doesn't, judging by his expression, but he goes along with it all the same. It's part of the competition, she thinks he thinks, and for not exactly knowing what he's doing, Zexion carries himself better than she does.

Naminé is miffed with the fact that he has the poise if not the exact knowledge and that he actually has some proper knowledge to miss. He knows, at least passably, how to sling his arm along her back, falling nearly to her waist in a cool cradle. And her notebook had been deposited quite neatly at some point in the maneuver, although that had to be mostly her doing.

And he doesn't quite know how to go on, eyes darting around to the sides. They catch, blue on blue, and a smirk is passed along. Naminé mellows it, for the sake of showing him how smiles are done. Another quiver in expression- Zexion isn't exactly at ease, and she's only catching the nearly nonexistent (ha) changes because she's almost curled up on his lap. Because she's still holding on to his hand, and because in trying to push her back to her seat he's now closer, and Naminé is sure that it was a good idea.

She expects him to call it, to slink into an obscure portal and have her trip up over the now-empty seat. It might go against politeness, but she knows by now Zexion doesn't deal with anything but aloofness, and this certainly is anything but that.

Swift and light, Naminé tightens her grip on his hand. She's seen this done on the borrowed memories, and it's supposed to be reassuring. If they can be reassured and however it works. Maybe it does, since when she looks again (with a small smile- Zexion still hasn't caught the hint, and she'd think him to be a better study), he's nearly smirking back.

He pulls on her hand, following her motion in some way, resting it slightly behind his neck. She'd ask, but Zexion gives her one of the usual looks. The one that says that he's seen- if not done- this before, and that he doesn't need anything like support. Besides the need for a partner in this, to be exact. And he's somehow done the whole motion without completely letting go of her hand, his fingers splayed over the back of hers and barely pressing against the thin bones.

Naminé stretches her other arm and mirrors the position- for comfort, she thinks, to use both hands. Ends up tangling her hand in his hair- it's so much shorter at the back, thin layers slipping between her fingers. And it's less soft than it looks, but it's a young man's hair, so she assumes that's the norm for males. It's still soft enough to slip in between fingers, and for the texture to be pleasant.

Here, she could stay, if neither of them was too occupied elsewhere. With his arms loose around her back, a puzzled expression on both their faces and her focusing on trying to not overly tangle his hair. Naminé could stay here, not paying much attention to any detail out of his face- she keeps comparing it to a sketch or two, and they don't exactly match up, now that she's here. She'll have to rectify it, once this draws to a close.

There she halts. Closure. Naminé is certain- insofar as she is certain of anything in this position, weirdly tranquil- that she doesn't want it to simply end. Or end so soon, full stop, because it has a nice sensation to it, and it does echo some borrowed memory, if she thinks hard about it. (What if it's two-way and the faraway look in Zexion's eyes is because…?)

It both is and isn't. It is, because she hears him whisper something that sounds… oh, she missed it, went too fast. There were some second-thoughts, and the warning that if she actually minds his lack of experience beyond nil, it stops. And that he has gone through enough heartlessness to pull such a feat off, regardless of any little last-second tricks Naminé wants to attempt. It is because Zexion lets his eyes dart for a breath, gauging the safety of whatever he's trying to do- she thinks she has an idea, but-

And that is where it isn't, because Zexion draws so very close, and suddenly having half of her vision obscured by the slate-blue fringe is less uncomfortable than she thought. Then it's full blindness, because Naminé does close her eyes, choosing to miss the view of this event. There's more than just the aesthetics to a drawing, this she knows, and she can't begin to even order the thoughts racing on her mind.

Her hands have tightened their grip, just a little and only because they're around his neck and Naminé doesn't even need to assume that it would hurt to have any force applied there. His hands have done much the same thing, fingers wide across her back and still impossibly cold. She isn't minding that too much, just registering it because, even like this, she's failed at warming him. A sarcastic retort flutters through, that she isn't that much warmer either and that anyways, it's less time than it seems.

It's also telling her to return her attention to something a tad rarer. The lips lightly pressing on her own. They're chapped a little, probably because Zexion does like monologues at times, and they don't have much of a taste- contrary to the weird novels the other girl used to read at times when bored on the islands. And they're sternly closed, although Naminé thinks the word is chaste. Or at the very least, some synonym for nice- he'd probably make some light jibe at her for lacking vocabulary, before being easy to convince for a lark with the lexicon. Zexion is immobile now, and she'd guess deep in concentration.

More in control of the situation too, since Naminé registers that he's pulling away once he's almost separate again (but still close enough so that, if she leans just a breath forwards and she'll do so, really, she will-)

"Enough distractions for today."

The words caress her slightly, rushing just along her lips, and the smirk that goes with them is in a haze of confusion. However, since he's still so close, Naminé gives in to some egoism and refuses to let go, even when his arms have fallen to his side.

One rises, catching a hand. Zexion smirks- softer, negotiating this time and Naminé wonders idly whatever he wants now. And, no matter how interesting the experience was, she isn't adding another layer of manipulation to her charges- it's already hard enough to keep track of where they're supposed to be, let alone where they're supposed to continue, as it is.

"However, this might not be such a… one-time event, provided certain conditions are met. One being…"

Zexion points languorously at the sketchpad, with that hasty drawing of him still at the top and still unfinished.

"I'd like to keep that, soon as you deem it finished. Another condition being that you return to-"

"My duties, I know the spiel."

He smirks- again, and he was so close to managing a near-genuine smile, right there in the middle of the small speech.

He doesn't say what usually follows, merely keeps up the expression…

And entwines their fingers, for a brief moment. For some reason Naminé will begin to fathom later, when she's halfway through another memory and his hand hasn't moved that far away from hers.

* * *

><p>A.N. – 'cos v.1 was made of concentrated fail plus some extra 'oh no'… I tried to re-do it :P Well… kept the original idea, tried to get them more IC (since I decided that after a whole other challenge of taking it easier, they'd have a decent shot at it… eh, guess sorta)… but yeah. It's still just kinda there, but it's better.<p>

And for the sake of all that is good, just ignore chap. 1, which I have left there as proof of my n00bness (since… the old PC got maybe-nuked. And my memory is awful :P)

Thanks for reading people!


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